A Study in Senses
by MorbidbyDefault
Summary: Sherlock has an inner struggle against just how keen his senses are when it comes to a certain pathologist. Formerly One-Shot, now Multi-chapter. Based on a Prompt From Rocking the Redhead. Thanks Dearie!
1. The Senses

So, I received this lovely prompt from the lovelier Rocking the Redhead. :D I hope you like it, my dear.

_Prompt: A_fic where Mrs Hudson and John catch Sherlock sniffing Molly's hair! Molly clueless of occurrences.

**Teehee...let's do this thing. OH, but after a reminder that I DON'T OWN ANYTHING! I'm a hobo in ownership, I have nothing but the joy of these stories, and the clothes of fandom on my back. Lol...er...something like that.**

Enjoy!

**A Study in Senses**

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He had called her over for assistance on an experiment. Or at least, that's what he had told her. The real reason behind Sherlock Holmes increasing invitations for Molly to come to his flat were for far more intimate reasons.

He liked her.

Of course, the intimacy only stretched as far as the confines of his skin. Sentiment itched to get out and expose itself to the petite subject of his newly found affections, but the stubborn, scientific man wouldn't let it. Sherlock had everything in place, ready for her to arrive. He went through the precaution of having actual experiments ready for her visits, not wanting to let his mask slip.

A knock on the door. A quiet tone greeting. He looked up, and immediately melted inside. She looked beautiful.

"Ah yes, Molly. Thank you. I trust you brought the new slides I requested?" Sherlock looked up at her, a quick grin flashing to light. Molly smiled in return, her bright brown eyes weakening his knees, figuratively at least.

"Yes. I could only bring one box, we need the others for the lab. I hope that's okay." She said as she crossed the room, shedding her cardigan. Molly moved to the kitchen where he was, and held out the small box of glass slides to him. Sherlock plucked it gently from her hands, making all too sure to graze her fingers with his own.

He'd wanted to touch far more of her than just that, if he were honest with himself.

"Well...is that all you needed?" she asked, unsure of why he was so silent today. Sherlock shook his head, still quietly committing the feeling of her skin to his mind palace. Molly looked at him with a bit more concern.

"What do you need?" Her soft voice sang out. Oh, how those words killed him every time she said them. Even now. It played forever on a loop in the room he had dedicated to her. Varying lilts and intonations, but always the same love behind them. He could compose a symphony around the way she said them.

"I need you...ahem. I need you to take a look at this tissue sample I collected. Tell me if your findings match mine." Sherlock said, his voice catching in the thick of his throat. He'd _wanted _to tell her he needed her with him. Needed her to be by his side all the time. However, the ever-pesky analytical portion of his mind refused to let him say it.

"Oh! Alright. Well, let me just have a look." Molly answered, before brushing past him to sit down in front of the microscope. She didn't mind Sherlock looming over her. In fact, she anticipated it. He often grew impatient while he waited for her opinion on things, and would make no effort to hide his frustration. So, being Molly, she would let him. She looked through the eyepiece, and gently turned the knobs to adjust the focus. While she was busy looking at the questionable substance under the slide, Sherlock was studying something on his own. More specifically _someone_.

He watched her closely, noting the way her spine curved as she sat there. The way her lips pursed as she focused entirely on trying to decipher what she was looking at. He took in a quiet breath through his nose, and all at once wanted nothing more than to plunge into a pool of her scent.

Strawberries and vanilla cream. Her body wash had, no doubt, been the contributing force to the thickly sweet smell, but her hair was the source of the lush and fruity aroma. In a rare show of defeat for the otherwise composed man, Sherlock braced himself on the table, one arm extending on either side of his pathologist. Molly had noticed the move, and chuckled a bit.

"I'm not really sure _what_ I'm looking at here, Sherlock. Care to give me a hint?" She questioned, staring back at the sample.

"No, I can't. It's much more rewarding for you to find out on your own." He said, trying to hide the husky growl in his voice. Molly shrugged her shoulders, before leaning in again. She released a gentle sigh, unknowingly driving the man behind her positively wild.

Sherlock couldn't deny himself any longer, and cautiously nudged his nose into the soft waves of her ponytail. She'd hardly notice, he knew, and thus let himself indulge.

She smelled divine. Positively luscious, as far as Sherlock was concerned. This, coming from the mind of a man who never, or rarely, ate; he could have devoured her right then and there...were it not for one problem.

He'd noticed them entering the flat, bags full of the shopping in hand. However, they had stopped upon seeing him there, his nose buried in the tendrils of her soft hair. Mrs. Hudson's expression was one of embarrassment, more for herself than Molly or himself. She'd sucked in her lips, as if trying to hold her breath so as not to disturb what she found to be a fairly intimate moment between detective and pathologist.

John, however, held a different expression entirely. It was one of smug knowing. A devilish smirk that would make Jim Moriarty look like a happy fool. He too, said nothing, and proceeded to follow Mrs. Hudson back down the stairs that descended from 221B. Sherlock breathed out a sigh of relief, glad that they were gone, but secretly dreading the fact that this was not over for him. He sighed into her hair. That's what had caught her attention.

"Sherlock? Are you sure you're alright?" Molly asked, turning her head to look up at him. One look at those soft lips and he knew how he would answer this question. Not with words, but with action. A brisk and passionate kiss against those perfect lips of hers for his tasting pleasure. She'd know just how alright he was. How insane she made him feel. How badly he _really_ needed her.

"Yes. I'm alright. Any findings, Dr. Hooper?" His voice asked in a charming note. Molly began to tell him about what she had thought, while Sherlock was busy reprimanding his logical mind for not being a bit _more_ liberal in its allotment for sentiment.

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Well, I know that's probably not what you were looking for...but I hope that you enjoyed it nonetheless! And YAY I even got all five senses in there! Sweet! Alright, my lovelies. Leave me a review so I know what you think! PLEASE?


	2. Sight

OH ALRIGHT! I know I said this was a One-shot...but you know what? Enough people want a second chapter...so let's go for two, yea?

**I still don't own anything or anyone. That all belongs to other people. Sigh...I am jealous of them.**

**Right-o!**

**Chapter Two: Sight**

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Sight. Perhaps the most important sense, as far as Sherlock was concerned. Seeing. Observing. His life's work. It all came down to the accuracy of his eyes, and how his brain perceived those images at an alarmingly stronger level than the average human. So, when it came to realizing that he did, in fact, have..._feelings_ for Molly Hooper, it only made sense that he discovered the fact by sight.

OoOo

Her key role in killing him was wiped away in light of her helping him to come back. Molly had been there for him when he revealed himself to Lestrade, telling the inspector not to arrest him like he'd seemed so keen on doing.

Molly had been there to help calm a very flustered Mrs. Hudson, who, upon seeing Sherlock walk through her front door, nearly fainted. She'd helped to clean up the broken dish that the older woman dropped during her shock. Molly had even made tea for them all, and was a driving reminder to Sherlock about how he should best approach explaining the whole ordeal.

Finally, and most imperatively, Molly Hooper had stopped John from _entirely _beating Sherlock to a pulp. Sure, he'd managed to get in a few swings, even landing two solid hits to the detective's mouth and nose. Then, he'd advanced again, when she stepped in between them, literally becoming a barrier to shield him.

"John! Stop! He did it for you! _We_ had to! He had to, or you all would have died!" She said in a loud voice that he thought her incapable of. He saw the look of confusion wipe to John's face, and nodded his head as his friend looked his way. John stood up, and walked to the door.

"I'm sorry. I just...I need some air." He said under his breath, before storming out. Molly immediately turned to look over Sherlock's injuries. That's when it had happened. The collective amount of knowledge he held about her came flying to the forefront of his mind, and it seemed to piece itself together automatically.

She was perfect. She was miraculous. She was gorgeous.

Sherlock simply watched Molly as she tended to his cut lip and bleeding nose. Her focused brown eyes, softly attentive just as much as her personality was. The way she breathed was equally gentle, her breaths seeming to gracefully stream into one another as she inhaled. She'd looked up at him every once in awhile, offering a sweet half-smile, before blushing and turning away once more. Another fact that he'd not taken into account before.

The way she blushed. It didn't seem to stay confined to her cheeks. It would start there, and slowly spread down her jawline, sloping to her slender neck, and alighting her chest with a rosy fire that Sherlock found _very_ intriguing. He wondered how far down -

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"Sherlock, are you even listening to me?" The voice of his flatmate snapped Sherlock out of his mind palace, the door to Molly's room slamming shut frantically to hide away his secret adoration for her.

"What?" He responded, a stoic beat of a word.

"I said, what was that all about?" John asked, expectation in his eyes.

"What was 'what' all about?" Sherlock snapped in response.

"Oh, don't play that. You know what I mean, Sherlock. I mean, what was that whole thing with your snout buried in Molly's hair? I mean, what were you doing standing within a centimeter of her, seemingly trying to melt into her?" John's grin had grown as the next several moments of tense silence passed. By the time Sherlock even let out a heavy sigh, John was grinning like a Cheshire cat.

"Ha! I knew it! You _do _love her, don't you?" Sherlock looked up at his friend. His sharp glare was cut off quickly however, as he met John's equally intense gaze.

"Don't you dare say you don't. Remember, you're not allowed to lie to me anymore. _We had a deal_." The detective was stunned. After another moment, he nodded, a slight grin on his face.

"Quite right...it's true. I...I care her, John. Deeply." His voice was quiet in his confession, but John knew he had heard right. In a quick motion, he slapped Sherlock on the back with a strong hand.

"Well, of course you do, mate. She saved your life. She's your pathologist. She's lovely. Why wouldn't you care for her?" The doctor smiled at his friend, and gave an approving nod. He then turned and walked toward the staircase that led to his bedroom.

"Well, I'll leave you alone to your thoughts for now. Just do me one favor, Sherlock."

"What's that?" Came the stoic question.

"If you're going to be dreaming of her, try not to make too much noise. The other day you woke me up with all your moaning." Sherlock's eyes widened, and he looked to the staircase, just in time to catch a positively evil grin on John's face, before he retreated up the steps.

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Hehehe...so it seems that John has known for some time now what Sherlock is thinking about. Hm...well, I hope you liked this chapter! More to come, so stay tuned! Oh, and if you could please leave a review and tell me what you think, that would be great. Thank you, my darlings! See you next chapter!


	3. Smell

Well, thank you all so very much for the reviews and for continuing to read this! :) I will say, to the Guest who asked for a third chapter in which Molly finds out...she won't find out this chapter...BUT there WILL be more than three chapters, so just hang on! :D

Anyway, let's get down to business. (To defeat, the Huns.)

**I do not own BBC Sherlock, Molly Hooper, John Watson, or Mrs. Hudson. (or Mulan. Lol)**

Enjoy!

**Chapter Three: Smell**

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_He walked down the long corridor, passing by far less important rooms. He'd needed to tend to them too, but at the moment, he couldn't care if they gathered dust and just rusted away. No, right now there was only one room that mattered. Hers._

_As he opened the door, the first thing he noticed was how it had grown in size since his last visit. It was immaculate, the shine echoing that of the lights from the lab. However, that observation was swiftly, if not a bit violently, knocked from its place of priority when he breathed in. An abundance of aromas wafted to his nose. First cream, as if it had just been poured from its new container. Next came the scent of strawberries, fresher than any he'd ever tasted. If it were at all possible, he would have lived on a diet of the strawberries produced to give her such a sweet smell. The bitter sting of death's odor hung lightly in the background. He could smell it, but it didn't matter to him. It was still a part of her, so he gladly welcomed it. It took him a bit to identify a fourth aroma, but he finally pegged it down. Coffee. Not just any coffee. His coffee. Black, two sugars, and yes, he could smell the sugars as well. He felt a bit of pride at the fact that she carried a hinted trace of him. _

_He had turned to leave after being surrounded in her essence long enough, the combinations almost driving him dizzy, when he picked up on a new fragrance. It was unlike any of the others, subtle, hiding itself under a mask of sweetness. This new redolence was spicier, a kick of tang permeating from wherever its source was. He sniffed about the room, until the scent grew stronger. Finally, when he could smell it above all else, he discovered its true origin._

_It was her. Completely and irrevocably her. This was the aroma that had driven him to near madness. In all his scientific mind, he hadn't even thought of it when it came to her._

_Pheromones. _

_The strength of the smell grew the more he thought about it, until this was the only thing he could pick up on. It flowed freely throughout the room, causing him to feel a bit lightheaded. He soon let it overtake him, and he fell into a deep state of welcomed insanity. All because of her._

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"Sherlock. Sherlock!" The gruff voice calling his name snapped him out of his torturous and wonderful daydream. He lazily slipped his eyes open, coming to look at Lestrade.

"Yes?" He answered tiredly, not realizing he had actually fallen asleep. Lestrade gave him a slightly worried glance, before motioning for a cab.

"I asked if you could come down to the Yard and take a look at some evidence for me. But, I think I'll send you home. Are you feeling alright?" He asked the distracted man, who simply let out a long sigh in response.

"Well, just go home. For God's sake, get some rest, man. We'll talk more tomorrow." Lestrade pushed Sherlock into the cab, before leaning in and giving the driver the address to Baker Street, and shoving a few notes into his hand. He then shut the door, waving the car off. The oddity of Sherlock's behavior that whole afternoon had baffled the Inspector, and so he fired off a text to John. Mainly to warn him, but also out of an insane sense of curiosity.

'_Is Sherlock catching a cold?' - Greg_

He waited a few moments, before his mobile chimed with an incoming message.

'_Not to my knowledge. Why?' - JW_

Lestrade replied, explaining how their mutual friend had seemed even more aloof than normal while at the crime scene. He'd hardly been cooperative in giving any answers to Greg's questions, but the main thing that seemed out of place was the sniffling. In the near decade that Lestrade had known him, Sherlock had never even had so much as a cough, unless he had just been nearly strangled to death, or doused with pepper spray. However, today, he noticed the consulting detective's nose seemed to be acting in high gear, huffing in small amounts of air every few moments. The response that he from John was _not_ what he was expecting.

'_Well, he's not physically ill. He's just a little lovesick. Probably in his mind palace the whole time he was there.' - JW_

Greg Lestrade could have sworn he felt his eyes bulge out of their sockets as he read the text over once, twice, and three times more. Again, he'd known Sherlock for nearly ten years now, and as seldom as he exhibited symptoms of a head cold, the signs of him having affections for _anyone_ were even less often.

'_Who has him acting like such a flighty idiot? They've done a good job.' Greg_

The answer to this question seemed even less likely than the reason behind Sherlock's behavior.

'_Molly Hooper.' - JW_

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The entire cab ride home had been a blur for him, as he had slipped easily back into his mind palace to delve in the bouquet of her scent. When the cab driver cleared his throat, signaling Sherlock to get out, he barely noticed. As he walked up the stairs to the main door of 221, he could feel the fog of bliss clouding his mind. Again, he welcomed it. However, upon stepping into the building, the colliding aromas of his pathologist hit him like a brick wall. Only this time, they were even stronger. He shook his head ever so slightly, as if trying to clear his head. The scent didn't wane, and soon enough, he found out why.

"Oh, thank you so much for stopping by for tea, dear. I do miss our visits. It's nice to have another female to talk to." Mrs. Hudson's sweetly maternal voice cooed over another party, and the sound grew slightly louder as the landlady approached her doorway. Sherlock swallowed down a thick lump of choking air as the door opened, sending a wave of strawberries and cream to his nostrils. That's when he came face to face with her.

"I'll be sure to stop by again soon, Mrs. - Oh! Hello, Sherlock." The small brunette said with a smile.

"Molly." He acknowledged her, trying his hardest not to sound like a fool. This, of course, was difficult, when the subject of his hidden and ever-growing affections was standing not two feet in front of him, teasing and torturing his soul with her perfume. She gave him an odd look, before taking a small step closer.

"Are you feeling okay? You sound like you've come down with something." She asked him, a grave sense of worry written on her face. Sherlock cleared his throat, clearly nervous with how close she was. This only seemed to concrete the notion in her head, and she set down her bag, sliding her jacket off and lightly pushing him toward the stairs.

"Right. You go upstairs and get comfortable. I'll be right up to make you some tea and soup." Molly's voice was assertive, yet still just as sweetly kind as ever. Perhaps it was for that very reason that he didn't argue with her, but instead numbly made his way up the steps to 221B, trying his best not to breathe in the overwhelming smell that was Molly Hooper.

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Hm...Sherlock's come down with something, for sure. But how long will it take for anyone besides John to figure it out? Remember, we still have three senses to discuss. So stay tuned! Hope you all liked this chapter! I know it was much easier for me to write, for some odd reason. Anyway, leave a review, tell me what you think. Likes, dislikes, predictions, wishes, have at it! Love you all, my lovelies! See you next chapter!


	4. Hearing

Teehee, yay! Thank you all so much for such lovely words of encouragement to continue with this fic. I'm actually enjoying this! ;) Anyway, just wanted to say thank you for your support and I hope you all enjoy the newest chapter.

**Once again, I do NOT own anything. Sadly, all characters depicted are already the creative property of either Sir ACD, or Moffat/Gatiss, and are owned by the aforementioned persons.**

**Chapter 4: Hearing**

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Sherlock had just made it to the sofa when he heard the light footsteps coming up the stairs. He internally cursed himself for not having said anything to keep her away.

'_Why would you want to keep her away?'_

_'Because she drives every sane and logical thought from my head without even trying, idiot.'_

_'Maybe that's a good thing.'_

His argument with himself was cut off by the sound of Molly clicking her tongue. He peered an eye open, to see that she was looking about the flat's disorderly appearance.

"Well, no wonder you aren't feeling well. This place is a disaster. Alright, um...you just stay there. I'll go make you tea. Or, or would you like soup first?" Her timid voice asked, the soft lilt of her tone bouncing lightly in the air to his ears.

"Just tea, please. Not hungry." Sherlock found himself responding, an unconscious effort that he almost missed participating in entirely. Molly smiled at him, and let out a sigh of defeat, before her feet carried her into the kitchen. He breathed a little easier, knowing she wasn't within direct grasping distance of him. This was getting out of hand, and for Sherlock, who was _always _in control of his thoughts, his emotions, it was unraveling at an startling rate.

The gentle clatter of the kettle hitting the stove served its purpose of letting him know Molly was still in the kitchen, and he closed his eyes, quickly finding himself back at the doorway to her room that now took up a large portion of his mind palace. Hell, she had an entire wing dedicated solely to her.

He entered the room, and immediately was hit with the familiar wafting scent of her. _Cream. Strawberries. Death. Coffee. Her. _Forcing himself to push past the thick air that had him staggering already, Sherlock made his way further into the mental chamber. He was then met with yet another familiar thing to the room, the sound of her voice.

"_What do you need? What do you need? What do you need? What do you need? What do you need?" _

An infinite loop of her voice played on in this part of his mind. Each and every time called attention to a different meaning hidden deep in her voice. _Worry. Care. Determination. Loyalty. Love._

He let the sound of her soft voice wash over him, as the loop continued on. Sherlock picked up on other sounds, too. The way she tutted upon making a small error, the way her breath would huff out when she was frustrated at work, or with him. The way she sighed with such gentle caress, well, it drove his ever-stirring mind to wonder if she sighed like that under _different_ circumstances. The dulcet sound of her humming...wait. That was new. Sherlock hadn't heard that sound before.

He snapped out of his thoughts, to tune in on the soft song that Molly hummed from the kitchen. He listened closely, as the melody ebbed on through her lips. It started low in her throat, barely resonating past her immediate personal space. However, as the ballad picked up in its pitch, so did the distance that the tune could be heard. Her higher range was lovely. Positively beautiful in the way she carried the notes quietly. He was sure that, if given the chance to compose a concerto with her voice alone, he would be too distracted to ever complete it. Soon, the clink of ceramic tapping against the metal of the tea tray echoed throughout the flat, entering the living room. He closed his eyes, not wanting to draw unnecessary attention from her. Not just yet, at least.

"Sherlock- oh." her voice stopped short, noticing that he seemed to be sleeping. Sherlock could make out the distinct sound of Molly setting the tray down, before she moved quietly about the flat. It took most of his reserve not to spring up and tell her not to move his things around. But something in the way she softly hummed seemed to calm him, the way she could calm his mind so much that he simply relished in the numbness. He'd gone back to focusing on sorting out the growing sensory overload that came with being around the pathologist. The clever man had started to clear his head, if only just a bit, when he felt something across his forehead.

A soft, and smooth hand brushed the curls away from his forehead. He felt his face flush, even more so at the sweet whisper of her lovely voice.

"Sherlock. Hey, it's time to wake up." Molly's voice gave away the light grin that graced her features so elegantly. Well, so much for clearing his head.

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Teehee, k...so I hope this chapter was okay for you all. It was written over the course of a couple of days, and with several types of distractions. Anyway, hope you enjoyed it! Stay tuned for more soon! Also, leave a review and tell me what you thought, k? Love you all, dears! See you next chapter!


	5. Touch

Woohoo! Check out all these wonderful reviews coming in! Oh my goodness, it never ceases to amaze me how lovely you all are and how much you seem to enjoy these little stories I put out. Thank you so much for that. I honestly don't know what I'd do without each and every one of you who reads my stories and reviews, favorites, and follows them. Thank you. Bless you. :D

**Right, well, I still don't own any of this...though if I did, this would be an entire episode, because I'm having a lot of fun running Sherlock through sensory overload. Teehee, care for another dose? I know I do!**

**Enjoy!**

**Chapter 5: Touch**

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Sherlock felt her hand gently brush over his head, efficiently leaving a trail of tiny jolts of electricity in its wake. If he had thought that hearing her voice, or that breathing in her beautiful aroma were disorienting enough, then the whole of his clever mind was not, _could_ not be prepared for the thrilling short circuitry caused by her touch. She effectively shut down his mind, while simultaneously sparking a million new thoughts and fantasies within the same second. He never felt such overwhelming stimulation in his life, and she'd barely raked his forehead with her fingertips.

It wasn't until he heard her sweet giggle that he realized what had just happened. Sherlock Holmes had let out a groan. The sound was, of course, all too pleased in its resonance. He'd been sure to hold it in, or so he thought.

"I won't bother you for long, but I've brought you some tea and a bit of medicine. It'll help you sleep at least." Sherlock opened his eyes, and found himself drowning in a tidal wave of hazel. She was so timidly close, _too_ close, and yet too far away for his liking.

_'How can she think she's a bother to me? What bothers me is that she has this much power. This much control. This much...'_

"I'm hardly tired, Molly, but I will take the tea." He said effortlessly, trying not to let the urge to hold her overtake him. Molly smiled softly down at him, before she turned and prepared him a cup of the sweet smelling brew. Sherlock sat up, and watched her capable hands as they maneuvered the two cups and saucers around to face him once again.

"Here. I added honey, figured that may help with whatever you've got going on. Maybe it's a head cold. Does your face feel flushed or sensitive to the touch?" The pathologist asked, ticking off her list of symptoms in her head. Sherlock could answer yes to both questions, but not for the reasons Molly was clearly thinking of. 'Yes' his face felt flushed, as she so involuntarily caused the blood to rush to and from his head. 'Yes' it felt sensitive to the touch, as he was not used to the concept of blushing, or wanting to smile because of the sheer happiness that came with being around her. 'Yes', to sum things up, was exactly his answer for her. And 'yes' is _exactly_ what Sherlock said in response. He really needed to control his mouth better.

"Well, here...um. Give me your tea. I'm going to try something, if that's alright." Molly's small voice said, as she took the cup from his hands. Sherlock's fingers itched with want as they grazed hers, needing to feel her smooth hands with his own. He watched her curiously as she made her way to sit beside him on the brown, leather sofa, choosing the seat behind where he now sat up. With a surprisingly strong pull, Molly brought Sherlock's upper half backward, lying his head in her lap. The wide eyed detective glanced up at her, and she chuckled a bit.

"My Mum used to do this when I was sick as a kid. I don't know if there's any proven scientific benefit to it, but it always helped me." She said, her hands moving and settling on either side of his face. Sherlock's entire body stiffened as her thumbs brushed over his eyebrows, pressing in just a bit.

"Relax." Her voice whispered to him, and Sherlock found himself obeying her gentle command with eager ambition. He forced himself to close his eyes as Molly carefully prodded at the pressure points that dotted around his eyes and cheeks. He memorized the light callouses that graced her thumbs, more than loving the feel of them against his skin. As she massaged his temples, the detective grew even more relaxed, while at the same time feeling his mind spiraling out of control. All neurons were firing off signals that were normally warnings to him.

_Too close! Too much! Cannot handle! Stop! Stop! Too much!_

Yet, he ignored the bells and whistles that alerted him in vain, and allowed Molly to press forward with her soft caresses. The fondness of people to touch the ones they loved had always confused him. He had personally never seen any benefits in holding hands, never saw reason to hugging or the terribly named action of 'cuddling'. But now, now with her here, her fingers raking through his hair, light scratches along his scalp that sent shivers up and down his long spine, Sherlock began to see just _why_ people enjoyed it so much.

It was during this revelation that Sherlock realized he had been enjoying himself, far more than he thought possible. The situation to an outside eye would have been quite the sight. Sherlock, the attention hogging house cat, and Molly, the ever-doting owner, petting him softly as she sat, her eyes staring down at him fondly. If that weren't enough, the fact that Molly had the man nearly purring with her soft strokes through his curls would have concreted the thought into anyone's head.

_She has to know. Surely she knows. Of course she knows. There's no way around the obvious facts of what power she holds. She knows. She most certainly knows..._

"Mmmolly..." Sherlock let the name slip from his lips, quite freely this time. He heard the small woman above him gasp a bit, and felt the cooler air on his face as she pulled her hands away. Sherlock looked up at her through hooded eyes, to see that she had gone a very alarming, very lovely shade of pink.

"I'm sorry...I didn't...I didn't mean to..." Molly made to move from underneath his head, when his hand shot out to stop her. Her eyes widened a bit at his grip around her wrist. Without saying a word, Sherlock allowed his other hand to reach up and make contact with her cheek. The sensation of her skin underneath his touch was wonderful. She was soft. So very soft. His fingers mapped across the small expanse of her slender face, tracing the line of her jaw with his fingertips, as he thumb grazed cleanly across her cheekbone.

"Sherlock? What are you doing?" Her tone was more than nervous, she was downright scared. Of what, Sherlock could only imagine. He'd known about her insecurities, yes, but he couldn't possibly know the extent of them, or what of the million potential questions was currently making itself to the front of her thoughts. He himself was quickly losing the battle of keeping his composure. He was both desperate and frustrated about the matter at hand.

_'She has to know, but it would seem she doesn't. I have to tell her. But I can't possibly.'_

_'Tell her now. She needs to know. She deserves to know.'_

_'I don't have the words. I never have had the right words when it comes to her. How?'_

Then, nothing. He'd heard nothing, except for the sound of his own voice as it began to speak for him.

"Molly...please." He started, coming to a pause as he looked up at her. His head still lay in her lap, and her doe eyes looked down at him with confusion, laced in worry and wonder. The heavy confession was balled into a thick mass that stuck to the roof of his mouth.

"What is it, Sherlock? What do you need?" Her voice cooed in response. That's all it had taken. Those four words from her, and he'd let go of every secret he'd been harboring for the past months.

"I need you, Molly. I've come to the realization of just how much I need you. I've always deemed myself a very skilled man. My senses are sharper than most, which makes being around you quite a torturous ordeal." He rambled on, not missing the note of hurt in her eyes at his last words. So, huffing out a sigh, he pressed on.

"What I mean to say is, I have picked up on everything about you in our encounters these past months. The way you look in any given circumstance, the way your scent seems to permeate the very stench of death in the morgue. The sound of your laughter when you think you've said something funny." He said with a half grin, catching her own chuckle at his statement.

"Your voice, your scent, you..._You_ haunt me to the core, Molly Hooper. It is a sweet and harrowing situation I find myself in. Wanting to be able to breathe again, but only wanting those breaths to be filled with you. I need you, Molly. Please, don't make me suffer any longer." His eyes had gone a deep blue shade, and he looked up at her imploringly. Molly Hooper's expression was one of pure shock, to say the very least. She simply sat there, giving thought to the words she'd just heard pour from the consulting detective's lips. After a moment, her features softened from their hard concentration, and her mouth formed into that simply beautiful smile he'd come to love so much.

"Well, I suppose I can't have you coming down ill, if it really is as bad as you make it seem. And I definitely don't want you to suffer." The lovely mischief that was in her voice was almost missed by how sincere she'd sounded, but Sherlock had definitely caught the playful look that gleamed in her eye. He smiled a bit brightly, before sitting up and flipping quickly to look at her. His hands resumed their connection to her, this time both coming to her face. One hand dug itself into her soft hair, and the genius immediately filed the texture away to sort at a more convenient time. The other resumed its former position along her cheek. This time, his thumb spread across the span of her bottom lip, swiping across the light amount of moisture that clung there.

"You know, it's no fair making me suffer either, Sherlock. Will you please just kiss me already?" Molly let out a frustrated sigh, her eyes staring him down with desperation behind them. Sherlock threw back his head in a laugh, before he looked over her soft features again.

"Oh, I wouldn't want you to suffer like I have, Molly. I wouldn't want that at all." He whispered finally, before he leaned into her, squaring their lips up to meet, and pressing in for a long awaited meeting.

She was far sweeter than he'd have ever imagined she would be.

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Well there you have it. We still have one sense to go...and it's pretty obvious which one it is. ;) So, I hope you'll stick around for it, and I hope you liked this chapter as well. Let me know in a review or note whether you liked it or not, any predictions as to what will happen, and any wishes of what you want to happen. No guarantees, of course, but I always love reader participation! :D Thank you ever so much, my darlings. See you next chapter!


	6. Taste

Well, here we are...at the final sense. Now, that doesn't necessarily mean this is the last chapter...but...well let's just read on and find out what this is all about yea? Thank you all so much for the lovely reviews I've received about this story. Thank you for wanting it to continue, and convincing me that doing so was a good idea. You have good taste, I like you people. :)

**Right, I unfortunately am not the owner/creator of any of these characters, and therefore can hold no claim in the canon that becomes/doesn't become them. Darn.**

**Enjoy!**

**Chapter 6: Taste**

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She initially tasted like the honey she had mixed into their tea. However, with each passing sweep of his lips to hers, Sherlock discovered yet another flavor to his pathologist. Sherlock was quickly learning that everything about Molly came in multiple layers. Her scent hadn't been easy to formulate, neither had the way she looked, or the sounds that came from her soft voice, which he was still learning about even now. However, something about the complexity of her taste fascinated him to a higher degree.

Molly moaned against his lips as he flicked his tongue out across them, and he was quickly met with her own in response. Mingled breaths had their own tang, a combination of the heat of tea as well as a slightly dull and flavorless taste that came with their tongues battling each other in desperate want. Sherlock moved his head down from her lips to graze upon the line of her jaw, and learned that there were an assortment of flavors to discover about this lovely creature everywhere. The main driving zing had been of the perfume that she wore. It was bitter against his tongue, and he knew she had applied it not long ago. However, as he moved to another spot on her, higher to her cheek, he tasted nothing but the gentle freshness that came from her home remedies. Something involving a concoction of fresh produce and water, as she didn't taste of makeup. He continued to focus on learning her sapidity, but couldn't quite ignore the way Molly sounded in his ear as she moaned in delight.

He next kissed down to delight himself in her neck. Molly was, of course, only too obliging by leaning her head back to welcome his invasion. The first thing he had tasted was her natural salt. In fact, he should have expected it. But upon laying his lips to her throat, the detective couldn't help but to lick the salt from the column of her slender neck. Doing so evoked a long and lustful sigh from the woman he was sampling, along with her hands kneading into his hair. He could taste the faint zest of her body wash, and had been correct in deducing it was vanilla cream. Despite the chemical zip, it truly held the sweet aftertaste of thick and fresh cream.

"Sherlock...you're so..." Molly's words began, but immediately cut short into a pleased groan as the clever man nibbled gently on the curve of her neck and shoulder's joint. She felt him chuckle against her, before he moved up to whisper to her.

"I'm 'what', Molly?" Sherlock purred into her ear, lightly sucking on her lobe as he did. Molly let out a breathy giggle, before pulling him back up to meet her lips. Sherlock delved into the action of their kisses, deciding he quite enjoyed her flavor there most so far. His tongue dragged across her lower lip, absorbing the remnants of honey that stayed there.

"You're so deviously good at this." She moaned into his lips, sliding closer to him as she spoke and kissed him. Sherlock chuckled at her response, before he pulled her flush against him. She sat on his lap, quite enjoying the intimate contact. His mind did nothing short of hyper-actively sorting out the new data that was swiftly filing in. His head almost hurt from the onslaught of information on her heady sapor, yet he welcomed the ache without hesitation.

"Molly...you are so _lusciously_ delectable." The clever man murmured from the front of her throat. Molly's head was tossed back against the armrest of the sofa, happily allowing him to explore her. If he'd even tried to remember how they ended up in this position, with his lithe form looming over her small body, he still wouldn't have been able to remember. She smiled as he continued to place strategic kisses over her collarbone, bordering along the sweeping neckline of her blouse. As he moved further down, a new taste was introduced, though he decided not to keep it as a priority. After all, the cotton of her blouse hardly constituted as one of 'her' flavors, it's thick and dry blandness sticking to his tongue. He did make a mental note, however, of the response his actions brought from Molly.

Both had been too wrapped up in each others' presence to notice the entrance of a third party. John had stepped into the doorway so casually, and was about to speak, when his eyes landed on the activities in the living room. He went bug-eyed, his mouth dropping open in shock at what he was witnessing. John noticed that they hadn't heard him or seen him, so he quietly stepped back through the door, and tiptoed down the stairs to give Mrs. Hudson due warning as well.

Molly's breaths had gone from sultry sighs to desperate gasps the further down Sherlock made his way on her form. When he planted a deep kiss on her hip bone, Molly had seemed to surge with want, and took charge. In a quick move, she had flipped their positions, so that she now lied on top of him. She seemed to echo his path by kissing down his body as well, taking more opportunities to tease him. However, she soon grew impatient with her own actions, and stood up. Sherlock looked at her with a hint of confusion, and he stood to meet her level.

"Molly?"

"There's not enough room on that _tiny_ sofa for what I want to do, Sherlock." She cooed to him, nuzzling against his chest as she opened his shirt to place a few more kisses. Sherlock didn't waste a second, and hoisted her up over his shoulder, quickly charging down the hall to his bedroom. As the door closed behind them, the only sound that could be heard throughout the flat was that of excited laughter and the deep moans of a very hungry man.

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Well, the challenge had been presented to me to keep this story rated T...which I liked the idea of, as several of my readers have said that they don't like rated M stories in general. So, this is mostly on their behalf, that I'm stopping this chapter now. So, just one more chapter to go, sort of a follow-up, morning after type of deal. Anywho, leave me a review so I know what you all think. :) Thank you again for the response I've received to this story. I love you all so much!


	7. Overload

Well, here we are...the final installment of the story. As I said before, I decided to create a rather interesting challenge for myself and keep this one at a T level, because it's important to a few of my readers who don't read any higher level...and I want to include them. :) Anyway, slightly higher T than some of my others, but ya know...I will still keep it clean and as appropriate as possible. ;)

**Still don't own squat. Bum deal, that.**

**Enjoy!**

**Chapter 7: Overload**

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The warmth from the sun outside hit his skin through his window, causing the tired detective to stir. As he slightly opened an eye, he was immediately attacked with its bright rays. Sherlock squinted his eyes shut again, and moved to stretch himself out. He stopped just short of letting out a loud yawn, however, upon feeling the extra heat tucked up against his side. With sleep-clouded eyes, he looked down to see her snuggled into him, her gently waving hair swirling out in all different directions behind her head. As he adjusted slightly, turning to get a better view, Sherlock smiled. She seemed to fit into him perfectly, no matter what the angle. Not a single gap between their bodies could be felt by him, and he quite enjoyed the sensation of her soft and pink skin lying flush against his own paler flesh.

Sherlock ran his fingers through her hair lightly, calculating just how long it had taken for her ponytail to come out from their exertions, and how much time it would take her to set it right again after a shower. _Hm, a shower._ His mind quirked curiously at the idea of such a lovely creature bathing in his home...potentially with him. Sherlock smiled at the idea, deciding to himself that it was something he was _very_ interested in trying. He'd been unconsciously mapping out the soft skin on her shoulder blades, the pads of his fingers tracing small and intricate equations down the protruding ridges of her back. Molly slowly stirred awake, letting out a soft whine and an almost half chuckle.

"Sh'lock...stop 't. Tickles." She whimpered in a gruff tone, her voice a bit lower and drier than it normally carried in her throat. Sherlock chuckled, bringing his hand to a stop.

"I'm sorry. Good morning." He said quietly, placing a soft kiss on the top of her head. He watched as her face scrunched up with a suppressed yawn, before her brown eyes opened to peer up at him. Sherlock loved those eyes. So wide, so completely innocent in the reflective brown of her irises, a softness that he could practically feel. Molly smiled gently, before she moved her arms out from under herself, stretching them high into the air. As she finished giving her curled and compressed muscles some much needed relief, she moved to sit further up on the bed. The sheet followed suit as her thin fingers clutched it to her bosom, and Sherlock couldn't help but watch the captivating display of her curves beneath the white and rumpled sheet.

"Ahem. My eyes are up here, sir." Molly said in a mocking tone. Sherlock looked up to her face, to find a most mischievous smirk in place on her lips. His own smile grew, as he quickly moved to crawl his way up her form, until his lips were mere inches away from hers.

"So they are." He murmured, before closing the miniscule distance between them, planting a kiss to her mouth. Molly chuckled beneath his lips, happily kissing him back. The warmth of her body spread through the cotton of the sheet, making his own body temperature spike with want. As they soon found themselves scooting further down onto the mattress once more, Molly tapped his shoulder, making him ease up a bit. Sherlock gave her a questioning look, before he pulled away a bit more.

"I have to go to work in two hours, Sherlock." She giggled as her head rolled to look at the clock across the room. The man above her rolled his eyes, before making his way back down to kiss the hollow of her throat, all too glad to consume more of her delicious flavor in that spot. Molly laughed more, and pushed at him again.

"Molly. Two hours is more than enough time to enjoy a bit more of your company." Sherlock huffed, taking a small pout to his lips. The sound of her laughter, loud and unhindered, was even more beautiful than the small chuckles she allowed herself. It belted out in a quick bark, before she resolved down to silent bursts, her chest heaving as she tried to contain herself once more.

"Well, unlike you, I need time to make myself presentable for the day. I can't very well go to work with hair like this, now can I?" Molly asked, pointing to the twisted and frizzing bundle of hair that had tossed around throughout the night. Sherlock couldn't stop his brow from quirking up, almost intrigued by the idea of her working in the morgue with the post-sex do. The move earned him a lighthearted slap to the chest, before the pathologist rolled out from underneath him.

"Where are you going?" Sherlock asked in an indignant pout. His sadness quickly faded as he watched her hips swing back and forth as she strolled toward the bathroom. Her bare bottom was distracting enough that he hadn't heard her answer him the first time. A light chuckle caught his attention again, and he looked up to find the woman attached to the lovely behind staring at him in amusement.

"Well, aren't you going to join me? Figured you'd jump at the chance to 'enjoy more of my company' in the shower." Molly said with a wink, before turning and going into the other room. She hadn't even turned to close the door yet, before Sherlock was half way across the room to follow after her.

OoOo

After coming to the conclusion that making love in the shower proved to be more hazardous than he'd anticipated, Sherlock gave up, deciding instead to help Molly wash her hair. The soft, wet tendrils cascaded down her back, making it quite easy for him to run his hands through.

"Turn around." He murmured into her ear. Molly did so, and was immediately brought back to rest against him while he pumped the shampoo into his hand. After lathering the soft gel a bit, Sherlock began to massage her head, kneading and folding the soap into Molly's long hair. She relaxed against him completely, nearly falling asleep at one point. He continued to work the hazelnut scented shampoo into her scalp, and felt her slip down a bit as she relaxed more. Sherlock chuckled as he braced her against him with one hand.

"I'm sorry it's not strawberry scented, but this is all I have here, until you bring over some of your own things." He said as he turned her around to rinse the shampoo out. Molly chuckled a bit, a sweet and endearing smile on her face.

"That's alright. I like this too, smelling like you. Is that why you kept smelling my hair the other day? Because you like my shampoo?" Her giggle turned into a full laugh again, as Sherlock's expression turned to one of shock and embarrassment. Molly stood upright again, before flinging her arms around his neck.

"Hey, it's okay. It was...it was nice, to have you so close to me. I didn't say anything because I didn't want to embarrass you then. Especially in front of Mrs. Hudson and John." Her soft gaze nudged his scowl away, until he looked at her with sheer amazement.

"How did you know?" Sherlock asked in a quiet tone.

"I'm much more observant than you think. Plus, you're a much louder breather than you realize." Molly said with a confident smile, before laughing as she was pushed under the spray of warm water from the shower head by an indignant and mischievous looking detective.

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Well, there you have it my dears. I had to end this one on a fun note like that, because I really liked the suggestion where Molly knew the whole time. Anyway, Thank you all so much for reading and reviewing. I loved writing this one, it was a very good challenge for me. So, thank you all so much! And a special thanks to Rocking the Redhead, for giving me such a wonderful prompt to begin with. :D Leave me a final review, just for the sake of formalities, yea?


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